La Terreur
by Yonda628
Summary: As the Reign of Terror plagues the French population, it takes liberties with France's health. Just when it seems his country is in ruin, two old allies stop by to help out their old friend, reuniting the Bad Touch Trio once more.


_Just a heads up, the Bad Touch Trio can't be too funny in this because it wasn't really that kind of situation. Just letting you guys know._

It was nearly the end of the 18th century. A century of enlightenment and new ideas. However, in France, a change was occurring, but the traumatic events that would take place will take more than a century to overcome and recover from. Thousands of people, innocent and guilty, were thoughtlessly slaughtered by various forms of execution, but mainly the guillotine. The individual being executed was led to the machine, laid on their stomach and did nothing…

_But wait._

Wait for their death to come, for it to grip them by the throat, and whisper sweet nothings in their ear. The streets of France were covered with blood from those same people and the stench of it could be sensed from neighboring countries like Belgium and Germany. It was a terrible sight for Francis Bonnefoy. He had just started to recover from the execution of King Louis XVI when he heard that Queen Marie Antoinette was to be tried and executed later the same year. He slipped back into sadness, and waited to hear the news of the Queen's trial.

Time passed by and the day before her trial, he went to see her in prison. As he walked the filthy halls of the prison, he was touched, yelled at, and even scratched by the fellow inmates. He finally made it to the Queen's cell. She glanced up at him with dead, depressed eyes. She had to bear the fact her husband was dead for so long that she had changed drastically in physical appearance. It pained Francis to see her in such a condition, but he refrained from speaking. She stood from the floor and stared at him.

"Francis? Is that you?"

"Oui, Madame."

She glared at him with an unexpected hatred. "Why didn't you save him… why didn't you save my husband?" She grabbed Francis' hands and held them tightly. "Such filthy hands… such filthy, dirty hands… Hands that didn't save my husband; why did you not save my husband, Francis?! WE TRUSTED YOU!"

She continued to hold his hand so tightly that her fingernails dug into hands, drawing blood. Her fingertips slid down his hands, making trails of carmine behind them. "Why didn't you save my husband's life?!" Marie Antoinette broke down in a fit of sobs in her cell, sinking to the ground. All Francis could do was stare at her as her sadness broke what was left of her sanity.

"I'm sorry… Madame."

Francis turned from her cell and walked out of the prison. Now all he could do was wait until her trial and execution the next day.

That day arrived sooner than expected and France sat in the room during his Queen's trial. She had barely any time to prepare for this and as they listed the accusations against her, Francis could tell every single one was a dirty lie. She hadn't done the majority of the things she was accused of, and Francis sighed as he began to tune out the false crimes. Before he completely ignored the trial, he heard something about having incest with her son. He jolted up right, eyes wide with shock at the brutal lie thrust upon the former queen of France. She lost all composure after that, but never answered the question of whether or not she did what she was accused of, to which she replied, "If I have not replied, it is because Nature itself refuses to respond to such a charge laid against a mother." Francis was shocked at the nonchalant reply. It was so calm, but held so much significance to the other mothers around her, who supported her after the claim was made. However, it meant nothing, and she was sentenced to death.

She rode in an open cart, used for criminals, with all composure gathered back. She was taken to the scaffold when she saw Francis standing right beside it. She stared at him with apologetic eyes and mouthed, "Je suis désolé, s'il vous plaît pardonnez-moi." [I am sorry, please forgive me]. As she was led to the guillotine, she accidently stepped on the executioner's foot, and said, "Pardon me sir, I meant not to do it."

Then she was no more. Little did the rest of the country know that her death was the beginning of a reign of bloodshed.

**_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Hetalia!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_**

Within ten months, many more were put to death and the death toll was taking its sweet time picking on Francis' health. As the deaths occurred more often (and he was constantly aware of that), the wearier he became. It began with a simple headache and a stiff neck. After that occurred nonstop for a few days, his limbs began to ache. Those aches turned to cramps which turned to throbbing spasms. It even reached the point of breaking one of his legs out of the contractions of muscles. And with that pain, their came pains of the same magnitude in his chest which seriously affected his breathing. His breathing was also affected by an onset of wet and raspy coughs that often ended in fits of him coughing up large amounts of blood and mucus. He could feel the pain explode in his chest at times, like a pile of ignited gunpowder. Francis also felt the same pain in his head, which caused Francis to lie down completely still and do nothing for hours and hours. The pains often came on without any form of warning. During these episodes, he wished he hadn't been immortal, because death seemed so appealing. But until his country crumbled, which he did not want deep down inside, the excruciating pain was to be abided. France slept more often due to the periods of awful pain, and he ended up overlooking the fact he was to meet with two old friends in the near future.

"Where is he, Antonio? How dare he skip out on us," barked a loud and obnoxious Prussian accent. "Wait until I get my awesome hands on h-."

"Be quiet, Gilbert," replied a soft Spanish accent. The Prussian accent didn't say anything for a while after that. The two men walked down a street in France that was obviously one of the nicer neighborhoods, but it didn't seem as nice as it did last time they visited France. And Francis didn't skip out on their meeting at Antonio's house in Spain. They arrived at France's big house and knocked on the door. Expecting Francis to answer, Gilbert was ready to let him have it. As the door opened, Gilbert stepped forward.

"You have a lot of nerve standing us up like that you little priss! I have the right mind to punch some ass right now, and you are the first on my list-." A young woman answered the door and was taken by surprise at Gilbert's outburst. "Oh… uh-"

"He didn't mean any of that towards you," Antonio cut in. "Can you please lead us to a Monsieur Francis Bonnefoy?"

The woman was swooning over how handsome Antonio was and didn't even pay attention to how awful his French was due to his thick Spanish accent. "He's in his bedroom. He's asleep because he's taken ill…"

Gilbert glanced at Antonio with confusion. Antonio looked very concerned and stormed into the house up to Francis' room. "Where are you going? Antonio!" Antonio ran up to the room and opened the door.

"France? France, where are you? FRANCE!"

"What, what?!" France shot out of bed and fell painfully on the floor. He whimpered and held his back. "What? What do you want?"

"Why wouldn't you tell us you were sick? We've been thinking you were skipping out on us because you were being a prissy jerk!" France stood up and glanced at his friend.

"Je suis désolé (I'm sorry)… But I was hoping this would blow over before you found out about it, Spain."

"How could you think this would blow over?!" Prussia (Gilbert) stormed into the room. "If you pull this crap again, I, zee Great Prussia, will personally kill you myself! You make Spain turn into his little fussy girl boy self!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Prussia," France said completely understanding Prussia's pain. He knew how worrisome and pathetic Spain got when he began to get anxious for someone. France walked over to the window, where he had a clear view of the guillotine. They were executing yet another person and he began to look physically weaker.

"Such innocent people," he whispered putting a hand up to the window. His hand slipped down, leaving five trails of crimson from his fingertips. "Dying such shameful deaths…"

"That is it!" Prussia grabbed France's arm. "You are coming with me and we are stopping this."

"But Prussia-." The Prussian ignored his friends' pleas and continued to drag France down the stairs and out of his house. They walked down the streets of France, Prussia never letting go of his grip. "Where are you going?"

Prussia walked up to a very important looking building and slammed the door open. There was a group of rich looking white men gathered in a group. They were taken aback by the sudden appearance of a foreign man. "What are you doing here, Monsieur?"

"Don't throw your fancy Frenchy language at me! Do you know what you men are you doing to your country," Prussia shouted angrily. He pointed at Maximilien de Robespierre. "Especially you! Do you even know what you've done to your country?"

He didn't answer.

"This!" Prussia pushed France forward. France was trembling, and his face was as white as a sheet. His cheeks, forehead, and even the tips of his ears were tinted red, and he was sweating. "Your country has been reduced to this due to your inability to deal with a few rebels. Are you stupid frenchies stupid? Of course you are, because I just called you stupid three times! Do you even know what you've put my friend through, and what that has caused me, the awesome Prussia to go through?! You do NOT do that to your country! If you do not end this pointless carnage of innocent lives then France will not make it to the end of the year. You will all be country-less and my ally, nein, my friend, will be dead. Do you want that to happen? Do you?!"

Prussia was screaming when he finished and the men glanced at each other, obviously questioning Robespierre's actions. "They seemed so _right_ before, but now…" There was rapid change amongst the men and they began to turn on Robespierre. Before they got violent, Spain grabbed France and the Bad Touch trio was gone.

Prussia glanced at France who was on the verge of collapse. Spain caught France by the arm, making sure he kept his balance.

"It's over, France… This Reign of Terror is over."

France gazed up at them with tired eyes and smiled. "… Good… I'm glad..."

Just a little something I wrote for an assignment. Hope you enjoyed it! :)


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